reviewed_on,comments,work_id,metaphor,theme,text,id,context,provenance,created_at,updated_at,dictionary
,"",3319,"""Whether material substance unrefined, / Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind, / Which to one centre points diverging lines, / Confounds, refracts, invig'rates, and combines?""","","Whether some great, supreme, o'er-ruling PowerStretch'd forth its arm at Nature's natal hour,Composed this mighty Whole with plastic skill,Wielding the jarring elements at will?Or whether sprung from Chaos' mingling storm,The mass of matter started into form?Or Chance o'er earth's green lap spontaneous flingThe fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring?Whether material substance unrefined,Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind,Which to one centre points diverging lines,Confounds, refracts, invig'rates, and combines?Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven,By man to God, or God to man, were given?If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe?Who rules above? or who reside below?""Vain questions all--shall man presume to know?On all these points, and points obscure as these,Think they who will,--and think whate'er they please!",8586,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""line"" in HDIS (Prose)",2005-05-11 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:33:39 UTC,""
,•Huh? Also appears in John Hookham Frere? Cross-reference. Must be a mistake.,5919,"""So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn, / To fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn""","","As far as realms, where Eastern kings are laid,In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade,The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd lightFlames thro' the vault, and cheers the gloom of night.So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn,To fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn.Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes,Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.",15694,"","Searching ""fancy"" and ""lamp"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-01-20 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:44:22 UTC,""
,"",5951,"Events ""'Together ta'en--they on my mind / 'No good impression leave behind.""","","""Last year's events I've scann'd--they shew me""Some prosp'rous scenes, and others gloomy;""Together ta'en--they on my mind""No good impression leave behind.""Now, you must know, my friends, I like""That same Philosopher antique,""(Though be assured, not half so well,""As those in France that bear the bell)""Who, with his royal master chattering,""Requested to dispense with flattering""His Majesty, would condescend,""Because he meant to be his friend.--""And thus, for ev'ry Royal Sir,""(Elector, viz. of Westminster;""For other Royalty, you know,""I've turn'd my back on long ago,)""Trust me, the high consideration""I feel precludes all consolation:""I, your true friend, see nought but evils,""Enough to give you the Blue Devils.""You've toasted Nelson in a brimmer:--""Yet fortune, to my ken, looks grimmer""By half, Sirs, than she did before he""Enhanc'd Great Britain's naval glory.""'Twas, I'll admit, a feat to crack on--""Yet this White Day 's to me a Black One;""And since some weep for joy, I'll borrow""Of Joy a tear or two for Sorrow.""Te Deum sing who will to cheer ye;""I choose to chaunt my Miserere;""And, for the Souls, lament and groan,""Of those who told us they had none!""Judge, you who quaff Shaksperian wine,""How dreadful to be drench'd with brine!""Ah! what induc'd our gallant fleet,""With nauseous draught saline to treat""(Not attic salt like Sheridan's)""Th' advent'rous citizens of France!""Heav'ns!--were the Great Republic's founders""Compell'd to fraternize with flounders!--""And serve the world's Regenerators""For sandwiches to alligators!""Of thrice-renown'd, tri-colour'd flags""Shall Cophtis make their pudding bags,""Or sulph'rous explosion toss over,""To crocodiles, a French philosopher!!--""Had I a heart of oak or flint,""'Twould break, or else the devil 's in't,""To recapitulate--Hei Mihi!--""Such tragi-conquest with a dry eye!!!",15780,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""impression"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-15 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:44:37 UTC,Impression
,"",5951,"""'Th' woes imagination broaches / 'Drive through my brain like mourning coaches.""","","""Ah Sirs, though Fox is my cognomen,""I'm an old Bird of evil omen!--""And, while I croak, could you survey""My soul, 'tis lin'd with raven grey:""Th' woes imagination broaches""Drive through my brain like mourning coaches.""Our Club-room looks like Pluto's hall,""And Whigs like Undertakers all!!""This domineering Treasury Lad""Will drive me melancholy mad;""And yet, Sirs, I'm no pining fellow""Whose melancholy 's green and yellow,""Mine 's made of Opposition stuff,""Right melancholy Blue and Buff.""Upon a monumental pile""Patience at Grief may sit and smile,""But I'm content with seat more humble,""Upon this chair I'll sit and grumble:""Nor shall concealment wear my soul,""Nor feed on my brown-damask jowl:""Nor me shall scare restrictive laws""From toasting Freedom's desp'rate cause,""Exil'd France, Switzerland, and Poland,""Asylum she can find in no land!""Here, should the Red Cap grace her crown,""Pitt o'er her visage pulls it down,""And ties her up in her own garters,""As he has down her Irish Martyrs.""Sure, to make traitors bite the dust is""The very climax of injustice!""Our honest Whigs, he'll ne'er enlist 'em""To militate for such a system,""To white-wash--who so roundly swore--""Erin's Apostate Blackamoor.",15797,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-30 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:44:41 UTC,""
,•C-H takes from Poems (1808),5965,"""Steel were the heart / That could this passing spectacle survey, / Nor feel the touch of sympathy within.""","","Lo the procession! Let me pause intent,And first drink pleasure at the peasant's grave.Humane and christian is the muse, and fondOf ev'ry object, cheerful or sedate,Which rural scenes afford. She nor contemnsThe nuptial holiday, nor views untouch'dThe sad solemnity of rustic woe,What time the white-frock'd mourner slowly moves,And brings with mute reluctance to the graveThe dear remains of some departed friend.The decent sheet that overspreads the bier!How well becomes it sorrow neat as their's,Pure, and unsullied by the shameless tearOf wrung hypocrisy! Steel were the heartThat could this passing spectacle survey,Nor feel the touch of sympathy within.Me it well pleases to the holy swardTo follow pitying, nor disowns my museThe feminine sensations of a heartThat often vibrates at another's woe.The tear that trickles down the manly cheek,The burst of grief that braves control, the sighWhich baffles interception, and escapesSoon as the solemn pause bids lift the pall,And ease the dead into his kindred earth,Send many a tingling arrow through this breast,Though the reluctant eye no grief betray,And tearless silence in her deepest gloomThe decent pleasurable secret hide.But often as my sated soul surveysThe sable funeral of city pomp,Methinks life human is a play indeed,And the poor player man, exhausted, spent,Has made his exit, and now comes the farce.'Tis pantomimic shew--the nodding plume,The proud escutcheon'd hearse, and long paradeOf dry-eyed mourners clad in inky cloaks,The streaming crape, and dismal aisle behungWith sable manufacture ill-applied.To see such idle waste, and childish shew,I smile, and nothing grieve. Not so, when deathCalls for the hind, and undissembled griefOf father, widow, offspring, to the graveHis decent corpse attends. Then through my soulExquisite sympathy's vibration thrills;It sorrows freely, breathes the grateful sigh,Nor scorns to utter from a heart subduedThe mourner's luxury, the deep ""alas!""",15866,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:44:56 UTC,Metal
,•C-H takes from Poems (1808),5965,"""Piece of the nether millstone is his heart / Who marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child, / Or views the rural festival unmov'd.""","","How pleasant now upon the village stileTo rest well-wearied, while the jovial boy,From school dismiss'd, upon the sunny greenPitches his wicket, a stone-steadied hat,And bowls exulting! Of encumbrance stript,He for his maiden visage nothing fears,But to the scorching day-beam, unconcern'd,His cheek and bosom bares, nor aught regardsThe freckled aspect, or the sun-burnt skin.Piece of the nether millstone is his heartWho marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child,Or views the rural festival unmov'd.Me it delights to overhear the danceUpon the winnow'd floor of the void grange,To pause at hand, and listen to the soundOf the brisk viol challenging the foot,And of the foot respondent, and to seeThe village maid and village hind alertPacing the giddy labyrinth of joy,Each in the trim of holiday attir'd.Nor pleases not, upon the social green,The game laborious of the manly ballAim'd at the wicket, and its taper shanksLevelling certain, but for hindrance quickAnd resolute repulse of the strong blow,That sends it thunder-struck aloft in air,Or o'er the plain rebounding. Thou hast charms,Rural festivity, not soon surpass'd,Compare thee, as we may, with sport polite,The neat amusement fashion qualifies,Till nice refinement sits without disdainSpectatress of the scene. Never more keenTheir liveliest ecstasy, than when, for healthTo George restor'd, illumination's lampWas freely kindled, and the rural throngFrom ev'ry door conven'd, along the streetMingled in loyalty's triumphant maze.Then pipe and viol felt alone fatigue,While, nothing wearied, they with foot alertThe blazing window's artificial dayDown danc'd, the fretted cupola of heavenTheir spacious ball-room, their assembler God.",15877,"","Searching ""mill"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-12-12 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:44:58 UTC,""
,•Taking a swipe at Hannah More. ,6181,"""A head of wax should never court the sun.""","","List to the oracles I now advance--
A man stark blind should never races run;
A cripple never should pretend to dance; A head of wax should never court the sun.

Then bid Miss Hannah More her pen confine:
Repress the vainly rhiming, prosing rage,
That makes us sinful damn the nerveless line,Un-Job-like curse the pen'ry of the page.",16358,Epistle III,"Searching ""wax"" and ""head"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.",2005-04-11 00:00:00 UTC,2014-03-03 17:50:50 UTC,""
,"",6450,"""The mind that labours for a cure works ill / By feeding its own grief; wasting away / Like boiling waters in an useless struggle""","","VIRGINIA
Tedious are hours to those who live in doubt.
O that my father were return'd once more! [end page 29]
Or could I learn good tidings.--Dreadful suspense!The mind that labours for a cure works ill
By feeding its own grief; wasting away
Like boiling waters in an useless struggle.
Had but my wishes wings, fleet should they fly
And leave the winds behind! look for good news,
And bring it back with thought's best speed. I'm sick
Of hope, that promises and lingers on
Disease, but brings no cure. Give me a song,
Perhaps it may a while divert my care.
(pp. 29-30)
",17137,Act III,"Searching ""speed of thought"" in ECCO",2008-03-08 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:49:10 UTC,""